


And I Will Rise

by Ohhhdis



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Brief Violence, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 01:31:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13694082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohhhdis/pseuds/Ohhhdis
Summary: To end the Starscourge and save all of Eos, Noctis must give his life, but not in quite as literal a fashion as he so thought. Instead, he must sacrifice his memory.





	And I Will Rise

 

 

* * *

Pain blooms new in his chest, rippling like waves through his arm, his shoulder and neck and up the side of his face, and without looking he knows they’re standing before him. Bathed in their blue glow, Noctis rests at one knee, reverent and resigned. Perhaps a little broken. He can hear their voices echoing through his mind like it’s an empty corridor, booming and clear as the crystal shards that hover about his trembling body.

“The time has come.” The Wise tells him, wings outstretched as he steps forward, bearing a heavy gaze on Noctis that can’t possibly deter him. He’s come too far now.

“Please,” Noctis speaks, though the words shiver out of him with little force as he clutches his ringed hand against his stomach. _God_ , the pain is abundant; it steals his breath even here on the Astral Plane. “Lend me your strength. L-Let me finish this.”

“With this great power must come the sacrifice. Your life will be forfeit.”

It’s a little harder to discern, but Noctis is almost sure that voice is of The Fierce, or as Gladio liked to call him, The Bucket-Crowned King.

_Oh._

_Gladio….guys..._

He can’t help the sob that shakes him like a laugh, though hidden behind his hair, it could pass for a pained whimper. It’s a different kind of pain after all, how far his friends are from him, battling somewhere to the promise that tomorrow will come at all. Noctis sees them in his mind, Prompto, Gladio, and...Ignis.

His’ head gives a short, curt nod. “I won’t fear death, not anymore.”

He sees The Father--- _his_ father---staring down at him, quiet and solemn, as if he’s itching to reach out to his son. Instead, he says, “You do not face death as you know it to be, my son. Your life, your name and your very being will be forfeit, your childhood and your experiences. All to the Crystal and the Ring.”

Noctis struggles to understand, staring at his father who looks nothing close to who he was. “My….life?”

“Your memory.”

The Conqueror’s two words suddenly crush him as realization dawns. He’s going to live? Yes, he’s going to live, but...his _life_ , everything he knows, everything he’s seen and felt, gone. He’ll awaken to mystery. He can almost envision it, the confusion and terror plain on his face, the hurt it inflicts, and it’s all Noctis can do to keep from refusing outright with a vehement shake of his head.

“There’s--Is there nothing else, no other way?” Noctis asks before he can stop it, and damn it, he feels hot tears falling over the crackling, scarred skin beside his nose and down his chin. None speak, so he looks again to his father. “....will it save Eos? Will it save them?”

The Father slowly tilts his head forward, and while he expected no other answer, Noctis still feels a new, deep ache in his heart that turns his stomach in an unpleasant way.

“So be it.” he says, his voice soft and fading.

The Founder looks to The Father and motions him forward in a sweeping gesture. Noctis can hear his approach, his head hung so low as he grips his fingers hard against his chest, his back quaking as he cries. _Unfair_. This fate is so, so unfair, but he swallows his selfishness and allows his head to be lifted by a cold, ghostly hand. Staring up into his father’s eyes, he tries to smile, even just a little, while a weapon forms in the old king’s hands. Noctis shuts his eyes and attempts to focus, straining through the pain in his body and his heart, conjuring every memory he can fathom for the last time he’ll ever see it.

His mother’s smile as they read a book of old fables together, his father’s hand over his arm before he drives off to see his friends. Luna’s hair swaying in the Spring breeze as they sit together and rub circles over Pyrna and Umbra’s fur.

Gladio’s hand taking his to help him up, their wooden swords tucked beneath his other arm. Gladio’s strength, his messy eating, his big, happy grin.

Prompto’s camera held aloft, free arm around Noct’s shoulders, pulling him close. His crack-shot aim and his high laugh. His honesty.

Ignis’ hands, loose from their gloves, rolling dough to make him something sweet. Ignis driving Noctis home after school. Ignis touching his sick prince’s pulse. Ignis kissing him on his apartment’s balcony…

There’s a crash of electricity and his head snaps hard to his left as a blow lands like lightning against his face. His body lurches down with a shocking thud against the newly returned marble floor below his throne, and within moments, he can feel warmth slowly pooling beneath him, the wet catching against the corner of his lips and around his nose before it spills out of sight down the stairway beside him. The kings are gone. Noctis feels as though he’s coming apart, his shoulder screaming against the sword planted into the floor, his very bodily seams ripped open as his skin crackles, burns, and flakes away, but he can see, just a little, as dazzling light speckles into the throne room.

_The sun._

There are footsteps, muffled within seconds to his ringing ears, though he can recognize the shadows of bodies ascending the steps two at a time to drop beside him. He can feel he’s being lifted, his arm draped over the edge of the throne’s pedestal now taken by something warm and it squeezes in as the shadow’s mouths open, shouting silence at him. There are faces coming into view, fading in and out just as quickly, but he sees they are crying. Theirs are strange expressions, quick flashes of smiles that are then quickly hidden behind deep, deep sadness, wracked with a new horror. He is cradled firmly against something, and guilt seeps low and deep into him; he feels terrible to be causing these people such pain. Their faces are….so sad, so scared.

He wants to apologize, to quiet their fears, introduce himself and start over….but…. _what was his name again?_

His eyelids are heavy and the dark pulls until he sinks.

 

 

 

It seems sleep has not improved his condition, because as soon as he wakes, it’s just pain, pain all over and all within, thorough discomfort that makes it a slow, agonizing minute before his eyes are opened and blearily taking in his surroundings.

First, he’s in a bed. A HUGE bed, comically sized for at least six people, but he’s settled on its right side beneath a soft sheet and a heavy blanket topping that. The room beyond is a bit tough to make out yet, so instead he focuses on his body which seems to protest even being alive at the moment. Most prominent: his head and his face _hurt_. They feel hot like he’s running a fever, but only in select places, an oddly organized line that travels over his temple, beneath his eye, across his nose, and then down one cheek. Actually, now it feels like it’s down his neck, too.

He tries to move anything, his legs, his arms, open his mouth, but it’s all so slow and everything is sore, just hurts _so_ much. There’s a little sound that escapes his throat as his fingers try to curl in, and they meet something soft, but solid in their grasp.

With a flick of his eyes down to his hand, suddenly there’s another person next to him he hadn’t noticed, sat in a red chair bent over the side of the bed, asleep. _There’s another person in the room with him. There’s a man sitting at the side of the bed, holding his hand._

He tries to speak and THAT’S a mistake because his throat is impossibly dry and raw, and it makes him cough and wheeze, which wakes up the figure beside him. The man’s head actually snaps to attention like he’s been shocked awake, and his hands are quickly gripping against his own, squeezing in a firm, but careful way.

“Noctis!” The stranger breathes, his entire expression so bright and joyful, and the man immediately leans in, one of his hands moving to touch somewhere by his face.

_Um, what is he doing?_

The panic at the calloused stranger’s fingers brushing against his skin send him reeling back, sudden adrenaline-strength in his arms lifting him back just a few inches before they fail him and he falls on his side. _Just who the hell IS this guy?_

He tries again to lift his legs, to get up and out of the bed, but they don’t even budge, not with all the strain he’s putting into the effort. He’s at least stolen his hand back, clutching one tight against his chest as the other pushes on the bed so he can raise his middle again, breathing hard like he’s just run circles around the room.

That’s right, the room. Where is he? His eyes dart around, frantic for information, any sort of sign he can read, charts on the wall a doctor might have, but there’s nothing. This place looks like a home--a big one, all personally arranged and---and the man is back, standing over the bed now. He coughs again, and finally manages in a hoarse whisper:

“NO.”

The man stops, his hands frozen where they probably meant to try and touch him again.

“Whh….” his voice breaks, and he shakes his head, tries again. “Where…?”

“You’re in the palace, Noct. Your room.” The man says, calm and slow; he’s seeing his breath picking up, panicked and shaken. _What was that he called him?_

He’s aware suddenly that he has no idea how he’s gotten into the clothes he’s wearing, how he made it into this bed, and it makes him pull at the sheets to wrap tight behind his waist, self-conscious. He stares defiantly at this man and nods towards him. “And you…?”

“Me?” It looks like this guy is trying not to say too much all at once, though he honestly can’t tell if it’s to try and keep him calm or to withhold secrets and keep him in the dark. His voice can’t take another question right now, but then the man’s arms drop at his sides as he steps back.

He looks like he’s seen a ghost, the color drained from his face in some kind of realization? His expression has lost all cheer and is replaced by something terribly, suddenly lonely. He takes a deep breath and moves to sit again, always slowly, physically keeping to himself as if showing his surrender and submission; he won’t touch him again.

“It’s alright. I--I understand now.” The man says, clearly struggling around his words, but he still manages to be brief and speak gently. “Please, try to refrain from using your voice for the moment. It will need some time to fully return as you heal. If I may ask you questions, and you can nod in the affirmative or move your head side to side for ‘no’. Is this acceptable?”

Despite all of this, he can feel himself calming at the sound of this man’s voice now, and while he’s sure he still looks as cautious as he feels, he does nod once.

The man sets his hands on the bed, loose and palms facing in on each other, just resting, but in his sights; a small, appreciated gesture. “Do you know where you are?” the man asks, and his voice sounds like he’s holding back some terrible urgency, like he has a hundred questions he needs to be asking.

A shake of his head bristles some of his hair against his cheek, and he realizes just how long it is, black with touches of grey that end just before his shoulders.

“This is the palace. You’re at home, in Crown City…” he pauses, because he must see the sheer disbelief and question in his own expression. The Palace? The Palace is ‘at home’?

“Do you remember what’s happened?”

He shakes his head slowly.

“Do you recognize m…” A pause. “...do you recognize any of this?”

He shakes his head, feeling that calm he had begin to sink away into a deep pit of dread in his stomach. The way this man reacts to his answer is far from helpful. He places his head in his hands and _seethes_ out his breath. He can see the man’s fingers shaking.

“Do you know who you are?”

That’s when it falls apart, and he loses control of his emotion, his head shaking until it lowers to hold the knot in his throat from becoming tears, but then he realizes the man across from him is doing the same thing, before he stands up.

“I apologize. I must ask for assistance, so I’ll need to leave the room. I will return with haste. Is there anything you need?”

He thinks about this, feeling equally relieved to be left alone for a moment and also scared at the prospect of it. He swallows and tries to use his voice again. “...water?”

“Of course, your voice.” The man says, his head nodding as he pinches the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “I’m sorry. All will be made clear in just a moment. I am...My name is Ignis. I will return shortly.”

 

 

All things considered, Noctis is taking this very well. He doesn’t say much, listening attentively as the literal weight of the world is laid upon him in layers.

_You are the king. You have saved the world. You have lost your memory, every bit of knowledge beyond your ability to articulate like a man your age could. We’ve known each other since we were children. We have fought together. We have been together._

He’s clearly shocked, sat upright and back against the headboard of his bed cushioned by some pillows. He still can’t move his legs, but much of the pain is now manageable thanks to a little green vial and the glass of water on his bedside table. There are more people here now, though at least some of the medical staff and official-looking folk have left them be; there’s a skinny guy with blonde hair--Prompto--worrying at the bed as things are explained, anxiety written all across his face, though he tries to hide behind a smile and some silly commentary here and there. There’s a tall, built man named Gladio who barely chimes in on the conversation and seems completely unsure of himself, pacing the room in very slow steps. His arms are crossed over his chest, his head turned down with his hair fallen around his shoulders. And then Ignis has returned, also sitting beside his bed, telling his tale with a simple elegance, answering questions as they come to mind, occasionally bringing over a photo, or a book, offering evidence to his claims when he can.

Noctis is his name. Noctis Lucis Caelum, crowned king of Lucis, savior of Eos. He tries hard not to think about that any further than ‘Noctis’, or ‘Noct’ as these guys seem to like calling him. Finally, after what’s felt like hours of catching up, he parts his lips. “And I….do I have parents? Siblings?”

Ignis shakes his head. “No siblings. You were born a lone child. And...your parents are, unfortunately, no longer with us. Your mother passed away when you were very young, your father some ten years ago.”

Noctis just nods as he considers his apparent age. “So I would have known him better, then.”

Ignis nods.

“Did he--were we close?”

Ignis nods.

Noctis stares down at the small mirror he’s got in his hands, his stomach just a little twisted by his own strangely scarred and disheveled appearance. “And you said….you and I…….?”

He doesn’t hear or see a response to the question, and so his head lifts, staring over at Ignis, who stares right back at him through his glasses. “You and I?”

Ignis very abruptly crumbles, letting out a terrible, crying sound as he weeps into his hands. It feels awful to watch, even without really knowing who this man is or was, and it seems that it hurts Prompto and Gladio just as much, because they’re both adamantly fighting their own emotion. Noctis sets the photo aside, using the little strength his arms have to push himself closer to the edge of the bed, where he lays his hand over Ignis’ back, and then his arms as he pulls him into an embrace. Guilt and sadness well up in his throat as he holds him. “I’m sorry.”

This causes another of those dreadful sounds, and Noctis holds tighter, both hands braced at the back of Ignis’ neck, feels tears running down both his own cheeks. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

 

It’s a few days yet before Noctis has any bend to his legs, and while he fights a hard battle for stability in standing, he does seem to manage to walk around a few times a day for just a few minutes at a time. They’re just casual paces around his room, under direct supervision, but he needs to get strength back in his limbs, he needs to be able to walk to the restroom on his own, pull over books from the shelves in his room to catch up on….well, everything.

He’s been reading about half a book a day, and Noctis feels it might actually take him years to comprehend and remember it all. Eos is an old world, with rich, but complicated history. Warring nations, complex politics, dormant and awakened magic, millions of species of creatures and daemons. But then, between learning what he must, he gets to learn what he wants. Prompto drags Gladio into the room a few days a week, and even if the big guy leaves again soon after, Prompto stays for hours, with every visit a new envelope filled too full of photos and he can match a story to every single one of them. In fact, he’s organized everything to the earliest memories he’s got documented of the two of them, leading all the way up to the bonds that formed and kept the four of them--Ignis, Gladio, Prompto and Noctis--all together.

Prompto is such a kind heart, it’s impossible not to smile as he recounts their high school excursions to concerts they’d not been given express permission to deny or attend, or afternoons spent at the arcade after classes let out topping high scores. He talks about their road trip like it was this amazing journey that happened as told to him by someone else, reenacting battles with monsters and automatons, and at times it’s too much to take in at once without laughing at the absurdity of it all. Even Ignis, the serious, collected, loyal chamberlain always at his side, can’t help but add a detail here or there, and he actually smiles a few times.

The two easily become fast friends again.

The man who was his Shield is a tougher barrier to break down. He wears a scowl most days when he’s forced into Noctis’ room, and doesn’t stay long for the stories, but Noctis can tell it’s not out of irritation or anger. There’s a defeated slack to his shoulders that Noctis feels certain shouldn’t be there, and one day when he leaves, Noctis actually stands and follows him in a painful lumber, firmly insisting that Ignis and Prompto remain in his room. Ignis looks like a Duscaen owl in a spotlight to let him go alone, but then perhaps he trusts in Gladio, because he allows it.

Gladio hears the door open behind him and stuttering footsteps follow, and he realizes with a start who’s coming after him. He turns on his heel and immediately, he’s beside Noctis, holding him up by the arm and chastising him.

“Geez, kid, take it easy.” He says and starts to take him back to his room, but Noctis actually slips out of that hold to move in the direction Gladio had been heading, taking his arm instead. Something about that swift movement seems to resonate with him, because his expression softens.

“Come on. I want to talk.”

“That an order, highness?” Gladio scoffs, defenses still holding, though there’s something in his eyes that falters and gives in, just a little.

Noctis has this little smirk on his face that it seems Gladio also recognizes, because the man rolls his eyes and scrapes his fingers over his beard. “Fine.”

It isn’t long into what starts as a sort of heated, tense conversation, that the two are really talking to each other. Gladio has regrets that threaten to overcome him, the ‘should have been there’s and ‘meant to protect YOU’s all tumbling out in frustration until Noctis has his hands on the Shield’s shoulders and gives them one firm shake.

“You saved all of us, Gladio. You saved _me_ more times than I’ll probably ever know, but Prompto’s pretty damn good at not sparing details.” Noctis laughs, a sound from his stomach that’s full of joy as he thinks of what the four of them must have gone through, what they survived and accomplished together. “Can you at least admit to that?”

Gladio says nothing, but he’s actually looking Noctis in the eyes now, if not distracted a bit by the scars on his king’s face.

Noctis pulls him down for a fierce hug, patting his big back and squeezing insistently until finally Gladio gives in and returns the gesture with a small chuckle. “Alright, alright. Don’t get weepy on me, Princess.”

“AND--yes there’s an ‘and’, don’t look at me like that. I want to meet your sister. When you feel like visiting me, bring her with?”

Gladio’s grin lifts some. Now that seems suddenly familiar to Noctis. “You got it.”

 

 

There’s some bad days, too. Sometimes Noctis sits outside, looking down at Crown City, HIS city, and he tries hard to remember. He braces his forehead against his palms and fingers, shuts his eyes, and seeks deep in his mind, so far down he often forgets to breathe until he’s light-headed.

Noctis listens closely to everything that’s said to him, from the Crownsguard’s security roll call to his friend’s recollections, to reports Ignis reads aloud to him detailing the status of the country and its struggles, but he can’t count the times he’s remained in the feeling of being utterly lost, even with all the help he’s getting. Ignis can see his battle in his far off gaze, the defeated crease in his brow as he watches the specks of people hustling through the streets below. Ignis stays by his side, no matter how much it hurts to not be able to offer the comforts he could before, because he cares about Noctis too deeply to ever let him go it alone.

The king is upset now, his head against the balcony’s table. He just wants to remember it all. It’s his job to know these things, to balance construction initiatives and relations with Accordo and yet...sometimes he just _can’t_. Some days he just can’t recall something he’s _sure_ was important before, something that Ignis says to him, and it feels awful.

Ignis brings out a small tray that he sets on the table between Noctis’ arms, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze, encouraging him to lift his head.

“Be kind to yourself, your highness. You’re doing the best that you’re able. Here, try one.”

Noctis finds a small plate of stacked macaroons in front of him, all rich red with a white cream between them, and he can’t help but relax and pat Ignis’ hand. “Thanks, Iggy.”

Ignis seems to like being called that; Prompto was using it in casual conversation, and Noctis was able to put two and two together that each of the retinue had nicknames for one another. He’d made a point to naturally, over time, learn and use them again. Noctis picks up one of the little biscuits and pops it into his mouth, shutting his eyes as the perfect, sugar-sweet taste melts against his tongue and teeth. Such sugary satisfaction. That’s another thing he’s learned; he’s always had a sweet tooth and it seems Ignis thoroughly enjoyed feeding it as he cooked almost every day for him.

His chamberlain was sitting again, holding a teacup close by his lips to blow the heat down some, and as he reached for the report again, Noctis placed a hand briefly on Ignis’ arm to stop him.

“What’s Insomnia like?” Noctis asks him, and Ignis takes a short sip of his tea before setting the cup aside. Noctis presses his hand over the reports when Ignis thinks to pick it up again. “Not what that says. Insomnia’s my home, and I want to know what my ‘home’ is like….if that makes sense?”

“Yes, I think I do.” Ignis answers, an arm leaned on the balcony’s rail as he looks down at Crown City, the buildings lit by a pure, cerulean sky and a beaming sun, _a sun only here because of what Noctis had to do_. “Insomnia is...motion. Crown City’s our capital, so there is a constant business shared among its people. They seldom rest, always improving, always restoring. An appropriate name for us, then, if you will.”

Noctis watches Ignis as he thinks of what more to say, and he can see there’s as engrained a care for this place as he himself works to achieve in the man’s eyes. He already admires the skyscrapers and far-off green forests, the statues of the old kings and the occasional gatherings at the front gate of the citadel. But Ignis has lived here his entire life, and he remembers every bit of it in a way that Noctis feels such envy for.

“There is commerce and industry, but they also deeply love nature and integrate it where they can, both inside and beyond Crown City,” he continues, and this gains even more of Noctis’ interest. “Insomnia is a beautiful, steadfast thing.”

It looks like Ignis wants to say something more, the way he’s looking at Noctis, but then he turns away and rests his chin against his knuckles.

Noctis can suddenly guess what he might have said, and sits back in his chair, playing idly the black and gold ring sitting loose on his thin fingers. He turns it as he thinks of the pain Ignis must feel, not just once in a while, but every day, every moment he has to spend at Noctis’ side. But he never leaves, not for longer than a few hours if meetings call him away, or when he goes to sleep. He is a beautiful, steadfast man.

“Can you....tell me about us?”

He can see Ignis visibly flinch, like something’s just pierced his side, though he does look at Noctis again, briefly, his fingers now in front of his lips as if he’s trying to be very, very careful about what he says next.

Noctis turns in his seat, adjusting so that he sits over one leg, the rest of his weight leaned on the arm of the chair. “I know it hurts you to be around me. And the last thing I want is to hurt you any more than I already have--”

“Noct,” Ignis sighs. “YOU’VE never hurt me. Never, in all our lives, all our time spent together, even our silly bickering and disagreements. Yes, it...pains me, the way things are now, but that blame does not fall to you.”

While he isn’t sure that makes him feel that much better, Ignis doesn’t leave him much time to gloat. He rests his head upon his hand and says, “I caught you once, asleep in front of our campfire. You’d leaned back against your bird and fell out. I’m not sure for how long, exactly. Your clothes smelled of smoke for days, even after washes.”

“Bird?” Noctis asks.

“A chocobo. You used to ride.”

“Oh.” Ignis smiles as Noctis tries with a puzzled face to imagine himself riding a bird around.

“You and Gladio and Prompto used to _rave_ after successful hunts.” He continues on, branching on to a new topic after several long, silent seconds. “It took some time to chip away at my pride, but...you helped me give in. Perhaps not to the delight of being lifted into the bear-trap-embraces Gladio forced upon us, but...you seemed to enjoy them well enough. You may have been reticent to admit it, but you’d try to do the same to him. Prompto as well.”

There’s some happiness in Noct’s expression, but Ignis appears to recognize some confusion too, as to how it relates to his question. “I will never...It would be difficult for me to forget the night I saw you dance.”

“You told us all you _hated_ it, the Lucian Waltz, the Tuule-Step, all the dances you were forced to learn for ceremonies and balls, and it was believable. Your complaints avoided not one ear of the court for every practice you were scheduled into.”

Noctis could feel just a little shame for that trouble; that must have been part of being royalty. Even as he understood things now, not everything was terribly pleasant or interesting to go over, but he knew he’d had to.

“But in secret, you did like to dance. Just….your own dance.” Ignis’ gaze was distant now, but fond and warm. “It was late, after some party in the Citadel. We’d both been made to go, despite our indirect purposes for needing to be there. You fussed the whole night, but we were able to make light of it with some champagne, and talking, perhaps being a little too crude about the ambassador’s outfits and so on.”

“But you retired to your room, and I to mine. I realized something, I think perhaps you’d given me your phone during the night and I’d not returned it. I meant to do so, and then I saw you, in the dark of your room, headphones in your ears, and you were moving like I’d never seen before. Slow, elegant, but energetic and comfortably alone. You were so free of everything in that moment.”

Noctis couldn’t tear his eyes from Ignis if he tried. “You know, happy as I am to have them back, I don’t know that those memories are expressly of US.”

“No, perhaps not.” Ignis agreed, his arms resting on his leg, crossed over the other. “No, but...they are the moments I first felt I loved you, in the respect of being together. It’s when I knew it in my heart. I can’t think of another way to begin answering your question than that.”

 

 

It’s the first time Noctis has actually looked upon his people so close, and he’s still a few floors up on a balcony behind a podium. He can see all their faces, thousands gathered together to listen to him, and probably millions more out there, watching and listening as he considers his speech. They look exhausted, and yet somehow hopeful in their solemn expressions; they’re looking to him for answers, some of which he might not have, but damn it, it’s his duty to try.

“I’m sure you all expect to hear that the road ahead will be long and arduous, and that’s not inaccurate to say, but it’s an excuse, one that is unacceptable when so many suffer the consequences of a war gone on too long. Make no mistake, I loved my father. I respected him, as I respect many of our sister country’s leaders and the difficult decisions they were forced to make for the greater good. But there _must_ be change. There must be accountability and conversation, and most of all there must be hope renewed.”

He just knows the members of the board behind him look nervous, even if they attempt that straight-backed confidence, staring directly out at the crowd in faux affirmation. They begged for him to remain hidden in the castle, at least until they could outline some sort of ‘official’ response to the king’s awakening, but Noctis seemed to have found a firm ambition of how he would ease into his new role, and waited for nothing. Well, almost nothing.

Ignis managed to earn a few extra days alone with Noctis to observe his physical progress; it wouldn’t do to have a king giving a speech looking and feeling too deep a hell. What if his headaches returned? What if his legs gave out suddenly? Noctis knew in his heart it wouldn’t happen, but he also couldn’t blame the caution his advisor desired. Speech delayed to today, only for Ignis Scientia.

“All the country’s funds are being allocated into the reconstruction of our homes, our agriculture and trade routes, but we need to rebuild our connections to one another, renew your trust in this body of government. That said, at my soonest point of recovery, I will be joining the revitalization front in person--”

The entire row of elders nearly lunged at him right then and there, but at a swift outstretch of his hand, they stilled. Even the crowd below all murmured in a quiet rumble, but their eyes were completely glued to their king, brows furrowed in disbelief. From the very corners of his vision, the only person who was also looking at him, but still stood his trusting place at his side, was Ignis.

As the people’s discussion died down, Noctis placed his hand back at the podium. “I know that Insomnia is still healing, that it will take time, but it can’t be as simple as that, it can not be that I have shelter when so many do not. I need to see you all, hear your concerns, and try to fix them. If you will have me in your businesses, your homes and your land, I will endeavor to see your troubles addressed to the fullest extent of my capabilities. Insomnia is my home--our home,” he turned and gestured his arm at the people stood behind him. “It’s time we made that clear through our words AND our actions.”

 

 

As soon as Noctis is away from the podium, he’s surrounded by a bustle of questions and chastising commentary, which he largely ignores in favor of letting Ignis help him move into one of the board’s counsel chambers, taking his seat at the head of a long table. He grins at his friend, who helps to nudge his chair forward.

“Nothing from you, huh?” he asks.

“I am stunned as any, my liege.” Ignis replies with a grin, watching with his one good eye as the board takes their seats in a tizzy of trying to organize how to undo this.

“Well, let me have it, then.”

“I think it a grand proposal.”

That reply surprises him, and it’s plain on the king’s face. “Do you now?”

“It will require a great deal of coordination on the part of the Crownsguard. But as many of their numbers are citizens both within and outside the Crown City, I should think they would gladly serve such a purpose, to see their families and friends tended to in such a way.”

“Good. You can help convince _them_ , then.” And Noctis gestures to the gaggle of frantic elders.

Ignis actually laughs, and it’s lost over the buzz of the room, but not to Noctis.

It’s a tricky thing, trying to twist the arms of old conservative men. Noctis still stands his ground, issuing the executive order to be made active in a week’s time. A week is plenty of time for his physical therapy to be adjusted into more aggressive recovery planning, and probably enough time for Ignis to be eased into allowing it without too much fuss over him.

He leaves the group to it, and Ignis stays behind in his place to begin implementing the details of the excursion while Noctis is finally allowed his escape into privacy.

It’s night already, but there’s such a breeze that the windows of the central hallway are all opened to freshen the air within the palace. Noctis feels his heart melt as it caresses all around him, and it makes him brave and curious. He decides it’s time he learned the layout of this place.

It’s only minutes into turning towards new corridors, entering and exiting rooms, and exploring where he’s never been that he realizes he’s hopelessly turned around. It doesn’t get to him, not at first, because he’s found the royal library, a floor-to-ceiling collection of more books than he can possibly imagine even existing in one place, and then there’s the Gemstone Lounge, set up with ornate furniture and a grand piano in the corner by the windows. There are some astonishing, beautiful secrets in this silly skyscraper.

But soon, it’s been hours since he last saw any of the Citadel staff, and he simply can’t retrace his steps to find the stairwells or elevators and it suddenly hits him that he’s physically _exhausted_ , actually hurting from all the walking. He’s hungry, too, and Noctis begins to feel a prickle of panic rise in his chest, a little surprised by it. He finally manages to find two tall glass doors that lead out into a balcony garden, and so he pulls one side open and comes out into the night to just _breathe_ for a second and rethink his way back to finding where the hell he is.

Outside is better.

He’s found a short time later, and of course, it’s Ignis that comes upon him with a gentle touch to his shoulder. “I was wondering where you’d gone.”

Suddenly it seems that his panic hadn’t entirely left, and Noctis can’t help but laugh and stand to pull Ignis into a hard hug, gripping tight on his shoulders as he begins to calm. Ignis returns the gesture in a friendly way, patting the king’s back as he makes a light joke.

And then Noctis has his face in his hands, and he pulls him down into a firm kiss.

It makes Ignis freeze completely, like he’s reluctant to allow this, but the strong hands that barely began to push the king back a step soften half a beat later, and Noctis does let their lips break apart to shudder out a warm breath.

“I...I’m not helpless, Ignis. Well, not completely.” he says, taking the man’s hands in his own to stroke his thumbs over the peek of knuckles through his gloves. Ignis breathes his name, a lamentful sound that worries he’s forcing Noctis into something he might not want.

“I may be someone new now, I may need more time to really know who and what everything is, to know who I AM, but….I’m not stupid enough to not feel something for you.”

Noctis peers up at him, his eyes clearly tired, but fierce and determined, just like they were the last time Ignis had seen his friend before...before all of this. Ignis’ hands come to settle at the king’s back, right at that beautiful little hill at the base of his spine that rolls into hips. “I’m not foolish enough to not feel something for us. I know enough to know what I want, and I want to try---I want to be WITH you.”

“Oh, Noct,” Ignis says. “If you trust anything I ever tell you, trust me when I tell you this: even without your memory, you are...somehow ever the Noctis I knew.”

 

 

From that night forward, Noctis decides he doesn’t want to spend nights apart from Ignis anymore. He has his advisor’s things relocated to his own room, which is certainly sprawling enough to easily accommodate another ten people, let alone just one who has kept so little material things in his life. Ignis is a very simple man, despite his refined taste in small things, like food, literature, or fashion. Noctis feels inclined not to change that to any extent, but simply to encourage him into feeling home enough TO keep things that he likes. It starts with a few books that Noctis feels might pique his interest. Then one day, a new dressing stand is up against the wall where his own bare bookshelves had been, and there’s all kinds of little drawers, organized trays for accessories, and a tall mirror that can swivel out to stand on the floor, or remain atop the dresser. Noctis attempts far too often to sleep in, but once in a while, he’ll allow a guilty little peek as Ignis walks around the room getting dressed, checking himself in that mirror, pairing colors and patterns and shoes. Sometimes he gets caught and is hauled awake, but when Ignis does it, it’s not so bad.

Today he’s up of his own volition, and Noctis can’t help the nervous tingle in his stomach as he stares at a wardrobe of suits and ties, royal robes and far-too-fancy coats. This morning marks the full implementation of the Insomnian reconstruction process; every city, every town, every farm and road, all finally being worked on, even if only by volunteers or foreign, contracted aid. Today’s the day he begins his tour to the construction sites, and he hasn’t a single piece of clothing to work in.

Maybe the board assumed his tour would be meant for speeches, ribbon cutting, or some other nonsense, but Noctis feels otherwise, so he makes some phone calls.

Ignis shows a little surprise in his expression when Prompto and Gladio arrive several hours before they’re meant to, each carrying a duffel bag as they casually enter the king’s room after knocking. Noctis smiles at their presence, returning Prompto’s hug and giving Gladio a solid pat to the back, before they begin digging into the contents of their luggage.

 

 

Despite the secrecy of the king’s schedule on visiting his people, there is somehow still many people gathered in each location as he arrives, having gotten wind of his appearance. News travels quite fast here, even after the devastation of the city, but despite what the Crownsguard considers a security complication, Ignis can’t see any change in Noctis’ face. Rather, he looks hopeful still, smiling as the car drives by people who are waving at his window, even if they can’t really see him through it.

When he’s actually on-site, he disperses the Crownsguard and tasks them with helping in the construction efforts, allowing them to keep close proximity in case of an emergency, but fiercely dead set on getting to work himself. He can’t have anyone getting in the way of that.

Noctis is genuinely diplomatic in his attentiveness to detail; every place is different, every group of people have different needs, different suggestions and even harsh criticisms that the people are ready to offer up to him. But he _listens_ , really hears them, and either by stroke of luck or dependent preparedness, Ignis takes out a little notebook from his shirt pocket, and either Noctis has him write things down, or takes the pad for himself to jot notes and contacts, references for contracts that need a second look, laws that impede these efforts for no good reason. The amount of information that he’s taking in on TOP of working--literally, physically working--is mind boggling, and it takes Ignis forcing him away for a moment to drink water, or break for lunch because those are things humans need.

The talking eventually dissipates fully into labor, and Noctis finds himself learning how to lay foundation for bricks, pulling up support beams with Gladio, and in his last few days touring, he’s welcomed to cook and sit and eat with his people and his crownsguard. It’s the first time he’s felt like a normal person since waking up again, and a confidence beams through his words and gestures that Ignis finds himself...distracted by.

Ignis does admit to himself that perhaps there are some ways that Noctis is different than he used to be. He’s more readily able to shed the cool, detached exterior that the monarchs of nations always must adopt, in favor of allowing himself to actually feel how he needs to. He’s clearly awkward doing it, but he sees his king trying to give children attention just like the men and women working around him. He’s openly laughing with Prompto as they work, goading one another on to who can build with the fastest accuracy and quality. He’s doing what he wants, and what he wants as a person and as a king, is to help his people, and be a part of them. He always wanted to do those things before the Starscourge, but instead was clearly forced into the restraint of policy and process. This Noctis was unorthodox, and yet it didn’t entirely surprise Ignis all the time.

He is still Noctis, only he’s a man unwilling to waste this apparent second chance he’s been given for any purpose, when he knows what SHOULD have happened to him. He’s still warm and loving like the man he was; he sees Ignis watching him hand out food, shaking hands and offering blessings, and he smiles in a way that is genuine and soft, purely meant for him.

He’s new, but really, he’s still Noctis.

 

 

There’s one other new thing about Noctis, and it’s unfortunately ALSO distracting. He is a commanding leader, willing to hear all sides and consider the most appropriate course of action, but when he makes a decision, he will not relent and will not tolerate petty disagreement on the matter. It used to catch Ignis by surprise; now it’s simply too attractive a sight for him to handle professionally.

“Insomnia has no room for debate on something that should have been done years ago. I understand the scale of this measure is daunting, but we all know it isn’t impossible. We’re going to create this forum, and we’re going to make it function.”

The forum he proposes is an open hearing between the king and his citizens, a way for them to continually speak directly to him, in person, about their concerns, to discuss the validity and usefulness of old laws, to remedy them into new ones, and so on. The board vehemently protests, and it’s an uproar like Ignis has never seen in these chambers. A few of these men appear to be on the king’s side, if not perhaps hesitant to the potential security threats, but largely, the room is scoffing, flippant with him and his ‘idealistic vision’ of the citadel, and they try to tell him what it should be.

Clearly, Noctis doesn’t take well to still being treated like a lost, little prince.

“Enough!” he finally erupts amid the shouting, and the entire table stills.

Ignis feels a chill roll down his spine seeing Noctis’ expression, a little angry, but largely defiant and ambitious.

“I’m no idiot, gentlemen. I know the gossip that goes on within these walls, and I _dare_ not even think of what more is said beyond them. But if any of you have listened AT ALL to the things I have said, the things that MY PEOPLE have told me directly, it is that this rule needs oversight. I will NOT live in luxury, ignorant of the affairs of this board while the citizens of Insomnia have their prayers unanswered. No more. I am hardly worthy to be a king of anything if I should not even see and hear what my people need to say.”

He stands, and Ignis stands with him. He’s still taller than Noctis by half a head, and yet, the king stands above every single person in the room at this moment.

“The forum will be made public _tomorrow_ , and that is final. Bring your concerns to me privately, and I will do everything I can to address them. But this program is non-negotiable.”

Undisturbed by the weak attempt at protest, he walks from the room, and Ignis follows immediately behind him.

 

 

It goes just so; the forum is announced to all of Insomnia in a frank way that offers it as an ongoing project that will not be perfect, but plants the seeds of a more collected future. The schedule for this forum is completely booked for six months to come, and Noctis begins the difficult task of re-assigning his staff to aid with the requests and questions of those who perhaps don’t need the permission of the king to get what they need. It’s a messy process, but a forward-moving initiative that skyrockets the government’s approval rating as well as the reconstruction efforts.

As positively rewarding as the work is, it’s unfortunately also exhausting.

Noctis is able to retire to his room each night, though very late into it, and it takes every ounce of his remaining strength not to simply collapse into the bed as he is and let sleep take him. Ignis helps with this most days, if not completely drained himself.

He helps him tonight, taking the king’s jacket and shoes to stow away as Noctis spends a blessed moment in private, staring into his washroom mirror. He’s tired, but there’s one more task he’s set upon completing tonight.

Noctis comes out of the washroom some time later, showered and in loose, comfortable clothing with a clean shaven face that Ignis can’t seem to stop staring at. When his king drops into the chair before their dresser, Ignis stands behind him and presses a soft kiss to the newly smooth cheek. Noctis smiles at him.

“Would you help me pull my hair back?” he asks, his hands mimicking a ponytail behind his head, and Ignis seems to gladly oblige. He slides his fingers past his bangs, raking gently to gather together the long, grey-black strands and neatly band them together. Noctis watches in the mirror as he seems to lose just a touch of his age, pleased and comfortable in his seat. “I know I loved my dad, but I’m not sure I want to be his spitting image anymore.”

“This certainly suits you, Noct.”

As Ignis finishes, he lets his hands rest on the king’s two strong shoulders, which Noctis is quick to hold in place. “What did I like, Iggy?”

Ignis seems perplexed by the question.

“Before everything that happened, what...what made me relax?” Noctis is trying to clarify, but Ignis can see he’s embarrassed by what he’s asking, though he does turn in his seat to face his chamberlain and find his words. He covers his shame with a grin; _ah, that would be the old Noctis_. “What could you do to me? What made me weak in the knees?”

Noctis has never seen Ignis looked so conflicted before, but there’s a shiver that makes the hairs at his arms rise, and Noctis knows he’s struck the chord he wanted as he stands to face him. The two men have danced around this, and Noctis feels that his patience has been worn down by the unrelenting love Ignis gives to him, in brief kisses and shared meals and curt words for those who question him. Ignis looks impatient now, too, barely keeping it together as he thinks of Noct’s strong-willed eyes, his proud stance and sure smile that he knows exactly what he wants. Has _wanted_.

Ignis moves in a swift, elegant way as he always does, his hands cupping Noct’s cheeks as he steals him away in a kiss that sends spikes of pleasure-adrenaline tickling through him. Noctis is more than happy to respond and practically rips the clothing from both of them until Ignis takes over that task as well, laying the king out on the bed with some force.

“Allow me my worship of your majesty.” He breathes, and Noctis could lose himself completely in those words alone, finally letting himself lay back and for Ignis to take control of all of this.

And damn, he’s truly good at it, too.

The way Ignis makes him feel is an unravelling like he’s sure he’s known before, but it’s all new to him now, a second first time that he’s got two hands mapping his blemished body like it’s a rare, beautiful jewel. He kisses Noctis with such tenderness and heat that he can’t help but hold his lover’s body as close as they can get, rutting against one another as Ignis prepares him for what’s next.

“This…. _oh_ , I loved this.” Noctis says, his hands in Ignis’ hair as he kissed his stomach. “I love this. I’m…”

Ignis looks up at him, as he begins to push in, and stars fly to Noct’s vision as he naturally relaxes around him. Their bodies link together in opposing, strong grips, and then they’re moving and rolling in sync. Noctis already feels heat growing in his waist, until his head drops back and he gasps, “I’m so----! _So_... _in love with you_ \--”

Suddenly Noctis’ body is tensing up and he feels all that warmth that’s built up below blooming up into his body, through his chest as his heart hammers in his ears, and his cheeks flush red. Ignis responds with Noct’s name falling from his lips as he comes inside him, swallowed by that tight heat. Tears are suddenly falling from his eyes, and he buries his head against Noct’s chest, embracing him like he might fall away and disappear. Noctis has to catch his breath, but he’s curling his hands around the man’s back and keeping him grounded all the while.

“I don’t….I don’t know what happened to me really. With my ancestors, with the Starscourge…” Noctis speaks slowly, licking his lips as he takes Ignis’ face and lifts it to stare into his eyes. “But I know that it saved _this_... It saved all these people, all my friends. I know it saved you, and I would do it over again and again, and no matter what…...Ignis, I know we’d find each other.”

 

 

Ignis awakens to a surprise that it’s late in the morning, and their shared bed is empty. Well, nearly empty. There’s a lovely little white flower resting beside him and a note on the king’s parchment, a tiny pair of spectacles drawn to address him. Ignis finds his glasses on the nightstand and sets them on his nose, focusing through his right eye to read over the words:

_Good morning, love. Come to the palace lobby when you get up. Wear comfortable clothes._

He’s quick to wake, not for anticipation, but because he knows how to efficiently rush if he has to; he was trained to, in fact. Ignis showers in haste, finds easy clothes to throw together and put on and makes his way to the front lobby of the Citadel as he’s requested. Prompto and Gladio are waiting there, too, and the feeling of seeing them there in the sunlight, waiting with bags of their own and comfortable clothes, reminds him so much of the journey they’ve already been through, it might have formed a tightness in his throat. Luckily, their idle chatting about the good old days is interrupted as Noctis joins them, stepping out of the elevator in his own casual clothes, his hair pulled back, earning ridiculous hoots and whistles from his friends at his ‘freshened’ appearance.

Noctis holds a set of keys in his hands that he tosses over to Ignis. They’re for a Regalia model, but still different from the old girl they knew. Noct drops a bag of his own into the pile. “I understand that we used to really like camping?”

“Something like that.” Gladio says with a little light to his eyes.

“I can’t go far from the city, but...I think you guys’ll come up with something, right?”

Insomnia is every bit as beautiful as Noctis imagines it outside the city; it’s astonishing how quickly enormous trade offices and apartment complexes weave into rolling plains with big hills and hidden caverns, thick forests, roaming creatures. Ignis drives just beneath the speed limit to let Noctis take it all in, because this is Spring time, the most colorful of seasons especially in this country, and he deserves to see such beautiful things for all he’s done. He deserves to see the world he’s saved.

They set up camp far enough outside the Crown City that they are surrounded with wilderness, but close enough that clouds still obscure the sky some at night. It isn’t the perfect setup for an evening beneath the stars, but it doesn’t matter. There will be time for that later, when the country is rebuilt and thriving, and for now, what little Noctis can see, it’s still overwhelming to catch the barest glimpses of far away meteors streaking through the dark night.

Ignis cooks, and he looks beyond delighted to be doing so. He makes too much food, but each of them share the ‘burden’ of finishing every last scrap of it over card games and jokes. Eventually, the laughter does die down some, and they’re each entranced by the campfire, relaxed in their chairs, realizing that this is even happening again, when it was never meant to.

Prompto looks around him and is the first to pipe up about it. “It’s crazy, how far we’ve come, huh?”

Noctis lets his head tilt where it rests against the back of his chair, his legs kicked up and laying over Ignis’ lap. He can see Prompto is smiling, but there’s more in his expression that’s beginning to peel away the sunshine of his demeanor, the joy nearly too much to bear.

“I mean, the last time we...we were doing this…”

The last time they were doing this, Noctis had to die.

The last time they could sit around a hot fire outside in the fresh air of the evening, they were sending their best friend to his doom, a man they were raised beside, a man too young to face anything he had in his entire life. A man they’d swore under oath, but under the promise of their hearts, to protect.

It doesn’t need to be said, because each of them is already a little overcome and now able to be honest of what they’ve felt these past few months of renewed life. Prompto gives in to his tears first, and Noctis is immediately up and at his side, pulling him up into a hug that is then encapsulated further by Gladio’s big arms, and Ignis’ touch to their backs. They stand there like that for a stretch of moments, before Noct rests his cheek over Prompto’s hair and takes in a deep, stabilizing breath.

“You guys have always been there for me. Always, even when I didn’t deserve it, even when I made you angry, when I was happy and hurting...And now, I….I just want a chance to do that, too. Whatever we’re headed towards, I want it to be us, together, and I want to be protecting you like you did me.”

He lifts Prompto’s face and gives a little tap to it with the back of his hand; Prompto’s told him how much Noct hated being woken up like that, but it was so sweet and silly a gesture. It was theirs, as best friends. “If the Starscourge couldn’t separate us, then nothing can, or ever will, again.”

 

 

It’s early in the morning, the sky dark and the flame of their fire petering out slowly over time, and Prompto and Gladio decide to turn in. Noctis promises to join them soon, and as Ignis finishes the last clearing of his cook-work area, he notices the king stepping slowly off to be on his own.

Noctis touches the outside of the Regalia, a new, beastly car very much like his father’s, but still subtly different in many ways. It still looks and feels dreadfully familiar, though, and he finds himself slipping into its backseat, rolling the roof of the car back, and kicking his feet up on the center console. He’s stretched comfily, and his head tips back just as the clouds begin to fade apart like a curtain, revealing that starscape of a sky he so wanted more of. He slowly, eventually finds himself crying beneath it in silence, reminiscent, but for once, not trying to focus his mind and bring back something he doesn’t have now.

He feels the leather seats beneath his back and legs and shifts to sink further into them, he smells the burnt embers wafting through the air from their encampment, thinks of what his life is now, what he has now, what the last six, sevenl months have been. That’s when Ignis joins him in the car.

Ignis is quiet for him and lets him cry, only offering a finger to brush away his tears if they threaten to drop down to his shirt. Noctis tilts his head into Ignis’ neck to kiss it when he calms.

He sits up and gently takes hold of Ignis’ glasses to pull free and fold carefully, before his own hands explore his lover’s face, touch his scarred eye and cheek, feel the tiny hairs of the barest stubble at his jaw and chin. Noctis takes all of him in, and says,

“Can we get married?”

Ignis is silent.

“Or, well--is it allowed? If there’s some law or something, I’ll just change it but--”

“But you want to marry me.” Ignis clarifies.

Noctis nods, smiling brightly despite the puffy feeling his eyes have for crying. “I mean, if you’re the marrying type, Specs.”

It’s been a long, long time since Ignis heard that name. It’s a term he knows he’s never said since Noctis awoke again, and he can be almost certain his memory serves that neither Gladio or Prompto have brought up, at least not in his presence. And the look Noctis gives him is one of curious creativity, like he’s just tried out something new and sort of silly in a heartfelt proposal that sends Ignis giggling into a few tears of his own.

_Dear Noctis..._

He doesn’t keep the king waiting. It would be very much against his life’s work to do that.

“Yes, yes, I suspect I would be.”

They share a kiss, but it’s made short as Noctis lifts his hips from the seat to dig into his back pocket and procure a small blue box. He’s sort of unceremonious in removing the lid from it and pulls free two simple rings, plain bands of silver with one line of gold marbling through its center, one for his own finger, and the next for Ignis. He looks at the matching pair of hands now pressed against one another, aged with time and battle, but young with their promise.

Noctis pulls Ignis into an embrace and kisses him. “I don’t know if I’ve said this to you, because the gods know I should have, and if I have, I probably should do so even more. But thank you.”

Ignis chuckles a moment, leaning his own head against the back seat of the car. “I do believe you just gave me a gift, Noctis. Should it not be the other way around?”

Noctis shakes his head and new tears appear, but he looks so happy to suffer through them. “Thanks….Thanks for everything, Iggy.”

Ignis knows those words, said in that manner. He remembers Noctis taking his hand in both of his own in a gesture that utterly rattled his heart loose in a tortuous, bittersweet way on that last night together. There didn’t seem to be an old or new Noctis anymore. The two souls, if ever they were truly two, were one in the same now. Ignis takes Noct’s hand in both of his own, lifting it to kiss his fingers before he kissed his waiting lips.

“You are most welcome.”

**Author's Note:**

> For IgNoct Week 2018's Prompt: Injury
> 
> It's been a long, long time since I wrote fan-fiction, but this fic received so much support from Tumblr and the FFXV fandom, I feel inspired to share it, and to keep working on more, new works. Thanks, everyone, truly <3


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